Of Quests and Love Affairs
by PKlovesDW
Summary: Strange threatening letters are being sent to several artists. It's up to Auror Potter to find the culprit. But is the culprit all he will find? HP/DM! Auror!Harry, Pianist!Draco.


**A/N: **It's been a while already! I feel slightly guilty for releasing _another_ multi-chaptered fanfic. But I do hope you'll enjoy this one, too! Sorry for not updating my other fics, but I'm pretty motivated right now and my fingers don't ache as much anomore, so I might start releasing chapters for _Unwavering Love_, _Secrets_ and _Boy Doll_ again!

**Summary: **Strange threatening letters are being sent to several artists. It's up to Auror Potter to find the culprit. But is the culprit all he will find? HP/DM! Auror!Harry, Pianist!Draco.

**Disclaimer: **Yadda, yadda, yadda. You all know the drill. I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form.

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The stage was set. A light shortly illuminated the dark wood of the raised platform. However, the stage was not the main attraction, even though the dark wood was obviously of high quality and gleaming. The reflection of the light's beam, however, was what captured several hundreds of people. All over the room people were seated in bright red, comfortable seats, so that they could remain seated for several hours, were things to be that way.

The room had been filled with voices, though they quieted down when the light suddenly flashed on, bringing with it a sense of expectation. The air simmered with anticipation, and the last voices died away, so that absolute silence remained. All gazes were drawn to that one stage, to that one scene. A scene many had to miss out on. And even though it was a large redesigned opera house, it was filled to the brim with people. And what drew their gazes was a grand piano, the white glinting sharply in the light, a clear contrast with the dark wooden structure below. It made for a pretty sight, and that alone was more than enough to please the eye. However, most did not come for their eyes to be pleased.

A few seconds after the lights flashed on, slender hands were raised, and elegant fingers found their position on the keys. The room had been utterly silent, until a press of a key pierced the silence. Soon after, many other notes followed, while the hands practically danced over the black and white keys, the sight of elegance itself. The sound was reverberated throughout the room, thanks to its structure, though that was only a small part of it. Gentle sighs were sometimes heard around the room, and faces relaxed. There were even several people with tear streaks on their cheeks, deeply moved and in awe over the music. The fingers deftly and efficiently made a path over the keys, sometimes lingering, sometimes barely even there, the touch as faint as a butterfly's wings.

As the song progressed, the hands were lost in a frenzy of moving fingers. The end approached suddenly, and with a dramatic final note, the song was lost in the air, shaking the guests out of their temporary trance.

Soon the room filled with the sound of people clapping, some even giving the pianist a standing ovation. The pianist stoop up from the white stool and bowed, one arm crossed over his waist, the other behind his back. His hair had been neatly combed back for the show, but as he bowed, some of the pure blond strands escaped their confinements and spilled out over his face. He didn't smile, nor did he frown. His face was a perfect mask of seriousness and vague appreciation.

The clapping eventually went down, and with a final bow, the young man disappeared behind the stage where he caught his breath and hid a grimace. The only times others truly appreciated him were when he was on stage, a piano in front of him. When his fingers touched the keys, no-one could fault him for anything. Because he was perfect in that one thing. And that one thing was playing the piano like no other. He never received tokens of appreciation. No-one would dare. The only thanks he ever got was in the form of clapping and standing ovations. As for someone of his current standing, that was more than he could've asked for. Had it been ten years ago, or perhaps even five, he would've scoffed at the applause. In fact, he probably wouldn't even be on stage. No, he would probably sit in a chair, reading over important documents, while a glass of high quality wine was standing on the right side of the desk.

But life hadn't played out that way, and thus he was reduced to being an entertainer. A high-classed one at that. People from all over the country, the world even, came to hear him play.

Lost in his musings, the figure went to his room to grab the next few pages of music sheets. His next performance would begin in several minutes. After the white pieces of paper were grabbed firmly in his hands, he made his way back to the stage, hearing the performance of his colleague.

After the song ended and the applause had settled down, the lights turned off, and the figure made his way to the piano. After his sheets were arranged, the light flashed back on, illuminating the stage once more. And the figure of Draco Malfoy was illuminated, too.

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**A/N: **I've always wanted to write Pianist!Draco. And after _Il Gatto Sul G_, the flames finally started to burn in me.


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